Chapter 21

I wake in a haze—still half-drowned in the pain.

The world feels soft and far away. Distant. I blink slowly, my lashes heavy, and take in the unfamiliar room around me.

It’s night.

The walls are bathed in warm tones—rust, amber, gold. Fuzzy blankets and overstuffed pillows lie scattered across the bed and the chaise by the window. Everything smells like cedar and something floral. Not roses. Something wilder. Freer.

To my left, a glass door stands slightly ajar, letting in the cool breath of night. Beyond it, a wide balcony opens to the forest—dense and shadowed under the moonlight. I can just make out the outlines of two men standing outside, their backs turned as they speak quietly.

I turn my head—slowly, carefully.

Pain pulses through my neck, low and molten. Not the sharp agony of earlier, but a slow burn that spreads like embers through my chest and spine. The bond didn’t just break—it tore. Ripped something vital out of me and left behind fire.

The place where Lucian and Damian once marked me still throbs. Twin wounds that were once symbols of devotion, now nothing more than scars waiting to fade.

On my right, I finally notice Silas. He’s seated in a worn leather chair, one leg crossed over the other, a book resting open in his lap.

He hasn’t noticed I’m awake.

He’s focused on the pages in front of him, head tilted slightly, expression calm—too calm for someone who dragged me out of a battlefield.

His dark hair is messier now, slightly tousled from the night. He’s traded his crimson suit for something simpler: a forest green polo and black pants. Still elegant. Still powerful. But quieter now. More real.

He doesn’t look like a rogue.

He looks like a king.

The door behind him creaks open, and Dorothee slips inside.

Silas doesn’t lift his head. Just turns a page.

Dorothee crosses the room quickly, barefoot and quiet until she reaches the bed—and then she stops. Her eyes land on mine, barely open.

“Nara,” she gasps, the word catching in her throat.

She’s at my side in an instant, lowering herself beside me. Her hands are trembling as they cup my cheeks, then slide into my hair.

I try to smile for her, but I don’t think my face listens. I can barely breathe through the weight in my chest.

Silas finally looks up, but he doesn’t move. He watches—quiet, respectful—as Dorothee gathers me into her arms, holding me like I’m something breakable.

Tears slide freely down her cheeks, soaking into my hair.

“I thought we were going to lose you,” she whispers. Her voice trembles. “What the hell were you thinking?”

I can’t speak. I don’t have the strength. I just rest my cheek against her collarbone, letting her warmth seep into my veins. Her grief wraps around me like a shield, holding back the jagged emptiness still tearing through my soul.

I don’t answer. I don’t have to.

Dorothee pulls me closer, one hand stroking my back, the other curled in my hair like she’s trying to anchor me here. Like letting go would mean losing me again.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs. “I’ve got you, Nara.”

Wrapped in her arms, I sigh—a quiet, broken sound—and let myself fall again, back into the dark.

***

When I wake again, it’s late evening.

The balcony door is closed now, but the glass panes reflect the outline of two figures still stationed outside—silent, unmoving. Vigilant.

The pain has dulled to a low murmur, humming through my soul like an old wound rather than an open one. It’s no longer searing. Just present. Lingering. Manageable. I can feel my limbs again. I can move without being ripped apart.

Silas is still beside me. This time in another outfit—deeper tones, softer lines. A dark blue turtleneck hugs his frame, paired with loose, coffee-colored pants. His hair is more tousled than before, and the stubble on his jaw has darkened, spreading like shadows he’s forgotten to shave away.

I wonder if he’s let himself go, even just a little, to stay near me. To not leave. Something selfish and fragile in me wants that to be true. Wants to believe he chose this stillness beside me. That someone finally stayed.

This bond between us is supposed to be contractual. A shield. A deal struck in desperation. He owes me nothing—not comfort, not tenderness, not warmth.

And yet… part of me still aches for it.

This time, Silas isn’t reading. A small laptop is balanced across his thighs, the soft clack of keys a quiet, rhythmic lull. The sound is comforting. Ordinary.

I gather what strength I can, summon my voice from the dry wreckage of pain.

“Silas?”

His head snaps up. His eyes find mine instantly. He doesn’t hesitate—he closes the laptop, sets it aside, and drags his chair even closer to the bed. One hand reaches for mine, urgent, as if to ground himself in the reality of me being awake.

“Nara,” he breathes.

I offer a weak, uncertain smile. “You saved me.”

The words come easily. As if they’d been waiting for their chance to breathe. I’m alive. After breaking two chosen bonds, I’m still here. Some die from less.

But I didn’t.

And Silas helped me pull through. I reach toward my neck, fingers trembling, searching for what I expect to find.

No bite.

He catches my hand before it can roam too far and gently lowers it. “I didn’t formalize the bond,” he says quietly. “I only would have if it became necessary. Accepting you as my chosen mate was enough to stabilize you.”

I frown, confused. “I thought… I thought that was the plan.”

He nods. “It was. But then I saw you. Saw how much choice had already been stolen from you.” His voice lowers, softer now, like he’s treading carefully through a sacred place. “I thought, if it could wait, it should. That if you wanted the bond made official, it should happen while you’re conscious. Free to say yes—or no.”

His thumb brushes my knuckles.

“I thought you’d appreciate the freedom.”

Something inside me tips—like a boat struck by an unexpected wave. It wobbles, then surrenders, not to panic… but to stillness. Something new. Something gentle.

Gratitude surges up, sharp and bright. Tears gather in my eyes, and I shift, curling slightly toward him. I bring our joined hands to my lips, pressing my forehead to his fingers.

“Thank you.” It’s barely a whisper. But I know he hears it.

Silas leans down slowly, his warmth enveloping me, and presses a soft kiss to the top of my head.

“You won’t have to worry about freedom ever again,” he murmurs. “I’ll take care of you.”

My throat tightens. I nod, trembling, overwhelmed by the weight of what that means. The intimacy of it. The unfamiliar safety.

“Thank you,” I say again. And again. Over and over. The words pour out like breath, like a prayer. Quiet and desperate and real.

I keep repeating it, over and over, until sleep takes me again.